


Fallout

by Cirilla Godefroy (Cumbersnatched)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Whump, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21789373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumbersnatched/pseuds/Cirilla%20Godefroy
Summary: What happened if the Battle of Kaer Morhen went differently? Eskel wakes up from being knocked out, and his whole world is in shambles.
Relationships: Eskel/Letho z Gulety | Letho of Gulet
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	Fallout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TrueTattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueTattoo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Baptism in Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16200242) by [TrueTattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueTattoo/pseuds/TrueTattoo). 



> Happy Birthday TrueTattoo! Enjoy!
> 
> Many thanks to Embeer2004 for beta-ing this for me!

Dirt and gravel bit into his cheek as he blinked open his bleary eyes. Icy cold mist swirled around him in the darkness of Kaer Morhen’s courtyard, and the growls of demonic dogs could be heard a ways off. It took but a second to remember what happened, and then he was pushing himself off the ground. Eskel bit back a grunt and grimaced as he stood, his head throbbing with a far way pain.

Normally he’d ask himself what the hell happened, but he already knew.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

He’d been dueling one of the wild hunt, Caranthir the Navigator—had been actually doing alright—when a blast of icy power knocked him back and his head hit something…?

He looked around and his hair pricked at the back of his neck.

Yennefer’s magical shield was down.

Yennefer’s shield was down?!

Oh fuck…

God’s he hoped Ciri and everyone was okay.

Corpses littered the courtyard around him, demonic hounds and Wild Hunt warrior alike. Eskel drew in a breath, scenting the air.

Ice and frost, metal, sweat—his blood and that of the dead Aen Elle.

The castle was unusually quiet too, but for the clang of steel up towards the main keep.

There were no shouts, no blasts of dimeritium bombs.

No brilliant flashes of green to illuminate the stone walls of the castle from nearly every angle.

Lil’Bleater was nearby, almost standing over his discarded steel. He picked it up and readied it in his slightly unsteady hand.

There was a rock nearby too, tinged with his blood; likely a result of neglect, or the battle, dislodged in an explosion?

God’s, he hoped Geralt and Letho fared better than him, and Lambert too. He had to find Ciri—she was the key to all of this!

Eskel drew in one more deep breath and his nose flared out as he exhaled heavily. Ice, steel, oil and blood. Lil’Bleater, the Hunt…. their hounds and—Ciri and her magic! _There_ she is!

There was nothing else to gather there, so he took off at a steady jog and plunged into the icy mist that covered the courtyard, towards the sound of battle.

Eskel’s senses were already keyed up, but he extended them as he loped up a small stair case nearby. The sound of clashing steel drew near. Eskel took another deep breath as he cut through the gatehouse, took a right—and smelled him before he saw him.

Vesemir was backed into a wall, fighting off four icy hounds of the Wild Hunt. Sweat beaded his brow, salty in the air, along with the sour and bitter tang of anxiety and fear.

Then there was the coppery tang of blood.

Eskel’s lip pulled back into a half snarl as he charged the hounds and jumped, spinning midair as he brought his sword down on the back of one’s neck, slicing clean through. When he landed he struck out with a blast of Igni, scattering the others and giving Vesemir some much needed breathing room.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Vesemir hissed as they advanced shoulder to shoulder on the remaining three hounds.

“Taking a nap, the fuck do you think? Got knocked out!” Eskel growled. What the hell did the old man think he’d been doing?! Going for a stroll!?

He brought his hand up as two of the hounds lunged, forming an Igni whip that he used to knock them back. The flash of fire disoriented them, and he used the opportunity to spear one through while Vesemir blocked the third with his sword.

The two remaining hounds pressed them and Eskel spun to the side as one lunged, then stabbed in between the plates of its icy armored hide while Vesemir impaled the other through its maw.

“Where’s Geralt?!” Eskel asked gruffly once the hounds were down. He quickly yanked his sword free of the corpse and eyed Vesemir who’d slumped against the wall he’d been pinned against, holding his waist.

There was a lot of blood, so it looked and smelled… bad, but he knew better. Vesemir noticed Eskel’s concerned gazed and rolled his eyes as he pulled a red vial off his utility belt.

“M’fine. Dunno where Geralt is…” Vesemir trailed off as he uncorked the vial with his teeth and downed the contents.

“Any update then? On anything?”

Vesemir was ominously silent as he pushed off the wall.

A sour ball formed in the pit of his stomach, twisting and churning. He hoped Geralt was fine. Lambert too. Eskel knew they were more than capable fighters, though against that sorcerer even they might be hard pressed…

And Letho… Gods…

He… better be alright, or he was going to kick his bald ass all the way back to Novigrad.

Eskel started back towards the stairs to the main entrance of the keep at a jog, almost desperate to locate his friends and lover.

The icy mist parted before him, revealing several Wild Hunt corpses and dimeritium blast areas. He paused at the base of the stairs and drew in a deep breath.

Just the same old same old: blood, dimeritium, oil, metal and frost. The smell of the corpses, a few unfamiliar scents, possibly Roche, Hjalmar…a lingering trace of Geralt and Lambert.

“Have you seen Ciri? Or Lambert and Letho?” Eskel asked hopefully as he started up the stairs. The lack of noise from… well, _anything_ was really starting to make him uneasy. The keep was dead silent but for their voices and breath and it really should have been anything but!

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen them since the Hunt blasted through the gatehouse. The Hunt froze them all for a bit, but they broke out after a while. Ciri was with me but she teleported off somewhere… Eskel… You were gone… For a _while…”_ Vesemir’s voice cracked as he slowly followed Eskel up the stairs.

Eskel whipped his head around and his eyes locked onto Vesemir’s worried gaze. There was pain in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying.

“How. Long. Was I out?” He hissed as he turned around and advanced on the old man. Pin prickling heat spread down his chest and back as adrenaline kicked in and his heart fought to keep up.

Vesemir backed one step away. The sour tang of fear became thick in the air. “An hour…? Maybe two?

His pulse roared in his ears. “Have you seen…anyone? At all?” Eskel’s voice felt taut, ready to break with both frustration and fear. He almost didn’t want any answers. Leave it to him to get knocked the fuck out for two Gods damned hours and have everything go to shit when he woke up!

When Vesemir remained silent, Eskel started grasping at straws.

“What about Yennefer? Triss?”

Vesemir looked away. The answer was plainly written on his face.

Eskel felt like he’d been punched in the gut. The sour ball inside him twisted angrily as a wave of nauseous heat pulsed through his body.

“Keira then?... Lambert?” Eskel asked almost too quietly as his heart fluttered and skipped a beat.

Please let Lambert be okay God’s, please…

“Eskel—“

The thinly veiled pain in Vesemir’s voice was like hot lash from his Igni whip, searing into his skin and ripping through to his heart.

Eskel swayed and leaned heavily against the balustrade as he was overcome with dizziness. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“You’re lying,” Eskel croaked. There was no way anyone could kill Lambert! That asshole was too stubborn to die—he wouldn’t—

Eskel adjusted his grip on his sword and he swallowed hard. His mouth and throat were dry, and like something was lodged in it, almost choking him.

“I wish I was lying to you pup.”

Suddenly Vesemir was right there in front of him, a solid hand on his shoulder, pulling him close. Their foreheads pressed together and Eskel’s face contorted in a grimace as he tried to breathe through the pain stabbing through his chest. He felt his control slipping away, and he had trouble catching his breath.

Fuck… Lambert…

There was no way. He couldn’t be gone…

“I’m sorry,” Vesemir said quietly.

Eskel’s chest constricted and seized up. “I shoulda been there,” he grated out between clenched teeth.

But he wasn’t. He got knocked out by some Wild Hunt sorcerer asshole. He’d been careless and hadn’t gotten Quen up in time—hadn’t predicted the attack.

If he’d only been conscious …maybe he could’ve saved him...

The tightness in his throat traveled up the back of it into his eyes, making them ache and burn. He felt like he needed to cry, but the tears just wouldn’t come.

“We all should have been somewhere else, or done something different, but fate is a fickle wench. All we can do is keep moving along. No witcher ever died in their bed.”

Vesemir squeezed his shoulder and backed away. Eskel let him. The old man’s voice sounded detached, even as he offered his wisdom. With as many years of experience as Vesemir had, with everything he'd done, that detachment must come easily.

As Eskel warred against the burning in his throat and eyes, he wondered at what price? Either way it was a price Eskel hadn’t learned yet, or decided to pay. Witcher training was supposed to help but Lambert was his younger Brother! Lambert didn’t even want this life! Yet they all tried and did their best to build him up to be as strong as possible to survive it… and shared so many good memories together…

But, it was too soon….

A trickle of warmth slid down his cheek just as Vesemir’s sword came around to tapping at his armored shin.

“Ciri. Gotta find her,” Vesemir reminded gently.

“Yeah,” Eskel muttered thickly as he wiped angrily at his face. Breath did not come easily, yet still, Eskel forced himself from the balustrade. The burning tightness in his chest was almost overwhelming, and his legs were unsteady as he pushed himself up the stairs.

He could never forgive himself for this… he should have been there…

Lambert definitely wouldn't forgive him…

Eskel pinched his eyes and rubbed them together as he drew in a shuddering breath. He had to focus. There would be time to grieve later.

Vesemir waited for him at the keep entrance. “I’m going inside to see if anyone else did the same. Pick a side yard, when I come back out we’ll check the other.”

Eskel said not a word as he walked off to the left and cut through the icy mist; it clung to his armor and hair now, coating him with frost and chilling his bones. The eerie quiet was deafening and far more unsettling than the icy cold though.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and a heavy, undeniable dread sank deep into his gut. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any of his friends or comrades since he’d regained consciousness, with the exception of Vesemir. He could only assume they were in the keep, up on the battlements or down in the training area near the stables. They _had to be._

Yet, as he crept forward, he heard nothing but his near silent breath and footsteps as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other. If they… were okay, surely he’d have heard from them by now. Geralt didn’t like to wait around, and Letho would have sought Eskel out at the earliest opportunity.

His limbs grew heavy as he walked, tingling with unnatural warmth as his whole body flushed and rebelled at the thought threatening to take hold.

Letho was okay… he _had_ to be. Had. To. Be. Geralt… he’d better be okay too.

They were both his family in different ways. His best friends. He trusted them with his life, and they trusted Eskel with theirs. Yet…

There was silence.

No fiery blasts of Igni. No green iridescent flashes of light from Ciri. No dwarven shouts or Skellige warrior cries. Roche was around here somewhere too, and young Ves…

They… couldn’t all be—

Eskel’s stomach clenched, then unclenched as it rebelled at the mere thought—the idea—that his reality had suddenly and irrevocably changed. Bile rose against the tightness of his throat, and he choked, then swallowed it down with a shudder.

Later. He could find a hole to crawl in and mourn their losses later. Ciri still might be around, somewhere. With Ciri there was hope.

Though without Geralt or Letho…

Eskel let out a shaky breath. Gods, he couldn’t think about that right now…

Yet it was all he could think about though, as he passed one hound corpse, then another, followed by a Wild Hunt warrior. Letho, where was he!? Pulling back his lip, he drew in another deep breath, then shakily let it go with a puff in the frigid air. The air was thick with the scent of blood from hounds and the Aen Elle, and also tinged with Ciri’s lingering magic…

Metal, oil, frost, dirt and mold.

A few more tentative steps forward as the path widened into the side yard.

More blood, unfamiliar and some known, mixed together. Herbs…

The mist corralled in the side yard was thick. He couldn’t see, though not from the mist but from the new tears gathering in his eyes.

He failed.

Corpses of hounds lay strewn around Eskel, along with the Wild Hunt warriors. So was Zoltan, Geralt’s long time dwarf friend, and the burly man from Skellige, Hjalmar. His friends, acquaintances—who selflessly gave their lives to protect Ciri, defend their keep and the world as they knew it.

Eskel took a careful step towards them as he lowered his sword, which was suddenly too heavy in his hand. Then took another step, shaken and unsure. The mist parted before him and his stomach twisted in anguish.

A shock of white hair, dirtied and tied back in a ponytail.

He felt his body moving forward clumsily before the scene even truly registered to his mind.

“Geralt!”

Geralt lay face down in a pool of blood, arms and legs splayed out and sword but an arm’s length away. Eskel’s entire body felt hot, heavy and full of needles as he shakily knelt in the bloodied dirt and rolled Geralt over.

Unseeing golden eyes stared up at him with pupils that were relaxed and wide.

Eskel felt his chest constrict and the tension inside tightened unbearably as he looked into those dull, golden eyes.

Geralt. No gods please…

An invisible vice squeezed his chest further, and his face contorted in pain that crested and spilt over as he squeezed his eyes shut and lifted Geralt’s lifeless body to his own.

A strangled sob ripped its way out of him as he bowed over his best friend.

No… no no no!

Geralt was heavy, stiff with cold yet his head fell back as Eskel held him. Another sob tore through him as he cradled Geralt’s head and held him close to his chest.

“Gods… no… _Geralt…_ ”

Warmth poured down his cheeks as he rocked, with Geralt’s body in his arms. He should have been there. Could have been faster, fought more defensively, and gotten back to his best friend’s side, protected his back—

His grief overtook him, and he fought for the words that might make this okay—though in his deadened heart and mind, it would never. Ever. Be okay.

“I—I’m sorry…I’m SO sorry…” Eskel cried between cut off gasps of breath. Geralt was dead. Dead and gone forever. His best friend and brother. Misery and self-loathing lashed through him.

He failed.

Gods, he failed them all—

Lambert…

 _Geralt_...

Everyone…

He offered to help build and set traps… but traps couldn’t prevent this. His presence could have, his sword! He should have been there to help fight and protect. They were supposed to have each other’s back—

Gut wrenching sobs ripped through his body as he fought to breathe through the snot clogging his nose, Geralt’s lingering scent filled him. It burned through him and stung his eyes, and sent him heaving as he shook and failed to catch his breath.

Geralt was gone. Gods he was—

“Wolf.” A faraway voice, unimportant to his ears.

Geralt was in his arms, his scent in his nose—his skin cool against his own as he pressed their foreheads together one last time.

Eskel shuddered and keened as he curled and leaned over Geralt’s body.

“Wolf!” Hand on his shoulder. Pulling him up. Hands against his own prying Geralt away.

He jerked away, bringing Geralt with him as he shrugged the aggressor off.

They pulled harder, more insistently, trying to take Geralt from him.

“No… stop…” Eskel squeezed his eyes shut as he tightened his hold. He wouldn't let Geralt go.

“Let GO, wolf!” The hands tugged impossibly hard, tearing Geralt from his grasp.

“Please! Let me—“His broken voice cut off and he choked as he was pulled up by his hair.

“Go. Save. Ciri.” Vesemir shook him roughly by his hair, sending shocks of pain through his scalp.

Eskel’s breath hitched, then his chest heaved as he sucked in air and let out another shaking sob. His body trembled and the despair and anguish that had settled in his mind warped his face. Yet he latched on to Vesemir and blinked at him through blurry eyes.

Vesemir looked at him, his own eyes cold and detached. Yellow eyes with lashes that glistened and blinked furiously as Vesemir fought to remain in control.

“Ci…ri?“ Eskel asked hoarsely, his voice broken. He took in a shuddering breath and let out a low keen as he stifled the pain that threatened to tear through him.

“Yes, Wolf. We must find her!”

Vesemir released him with a rough shake and Eskel staggered away.

Eskel choked his misery down and slowly straightened. His scarred lip trembled with the effort and he wiped angrily at his face to clear his eyes. Geralt… Geralt was gone—

He closed his eyes as his body became wracked with emotion again and pulled his lips back in a snarl. Tears fell thickly from his eyes, but he didn’t feel them—refused to acknowledge the pain behind them. The reality. Witcher’s weren’t supposed to feel emotion. He couldn’t save…

Eskel growled and made himself take a deep breath, letting it out shakily.

…couldn’t save his friend. But he could still save Ciri.

Maybe even Letho.

Gods… Letho…

The thought of Letho sent him reeling, and he nearly doubled over as he was overcome with nausea.

“Breathe, wolf. You got this. Stay focused. We must find Ciri.”

Vesemir was still behind him, placing a solid hand on his shoulder.

Eskel focused on the touch, past the tenderness in his throat that reached up towards his eyes making them ache. Past the sourness roiling in his stomach. He forced the tightness in his chest to recede, if only so he could gasp in a few precious breaths of air—enough so that he could gather himself, and fight past the torrent of anguish and burgeoning hopelessness inside him.

He forced most thoughts from his mind then but for finding Ciri and survivors. Eskel wiped his eyes once more and adjusted his grip on his sword, then took off at run.

His legs felt like lead as he ran with Vesemir right behind him, but he didn’t have to go far. There were only two places Ciri could be. In the opposite side yard, or gone.

He drew in a heavy breath as he tore past the keep’s gate and pulled in the scents around him and those that floated on the mist and breeze.

Blood, salt, sweat, sharp tang of fear—his own?—metal. Dimeritium. Frost. Ciri?

Leather, blade oil, a hint of soap residue—Letho!?

Eskel’s pulse jumped at the scent and he picked up his pace as he rounded the curve of the keep and headed into other side yard at a sprint. The mist parted before him in thick waves, yet he heard the sickening slurp before he even saw it.

Imlerith stood before him, holding Ciri up by her neck. His massive sword was held low at his side.

Covered in blood.

Eskel’s gaze slowly moved from it to Ciri. Blood bloomed on her chest, covering Ciri’s white top as she was dropped and crumpled to the ground.

A cold chill swept down Eskel’s spine as he switched his gaze back to Imlerith. The sorcerer, Caranthir, stood behind him, holding open a portal. They were the reason for the deaths. Caranthir was the cause of his stint in darkness… his failure. Geralt’s killer. Lambert and Ciri’s.

Imlerith turned from him and made for the portal.

Eskel saw red and snapped—

Or would have if not for the strong arms around his chest and shoulders holding him back. “No! There will be no more death tonight! We must see to Ciri,” Vesemir howled in his ears.

Eskel struggled in Vesemir’s hold, his face blotched with red and contorted with rage and grief. “They killed—Geralt!” The tightness in his chest returned with a sharp, stabbing vindication, stealing his breath. 

“A battle for another day, wolf!” Vesemir growled. “Ciri is going to DIE if you don't control yourself!”

Eskel pulled and fought against Vesemir until the sorcerer and Caranthir vanished with the portal, which snapped him out of his red haze. The sudden disappearance created a small vacuum in the air, causing the mist around it to fill in the empty space, revealing the ground around and small portion of wall that was hidden.

There was a body. Thrown against the wall and crumpled to the ground, leaving a bloody streak behind it.

Eskel felt as if he’d been thrown against the wall himself.

“LETHO!” He heard himself choke out as he wrenched himself free from Vesemir’s grasp. His legs moved on their own, slow and heavy as if through muck or snow. Vesemir parted from him, and his cries of ‘hang in there girl!’ were background noise to the scene his mind was numbly refusing to acknowledge as real.

“Letho!!!” An animalistic sound forced its way out through his clenched teeth as he fell to the ground next to his lover’s body. Letho had crumpled to his side, and lay with his face turned down against his arm and the dirt. A small amount of blood had pooled outward from a large gash in his side, staining the ground around him. Eskel stared blankly at the gash, noting its size, and lack of seeping blood.

Partially healed? The blood clotted, internal wounds stitching together? Maybe he’d taken a swallow before—

Before he…

A harsh, stabbing pain radiated outwards from Eskel’s chest, nearly blinding him as his eyes gave way to that unfamiliar warmth on his cheeks.

No.

He was not dead.

He. Was NOT. Dead!

Eskel could hardly feel his body as he clumsily turned Letho over onto his back. His ears strained for a sign—a pulse, breathing— _anything_ that would indicate life. Letho’s body wasn’t stiff, and his skin was still warm as he brought up a hand to cradle Letho’s cheek.

“No no no… _please_ —“Eskel begged as he smoothed his rough fingers over Letho’s bald head. “Wake up big guy, come back to me.”

“Come on child, open your eyes!”

Heart lodged in his throat, he tore his gaze from Letho to look back over his shoulder at Vesemir. Vesemir had Ciri propped up against his legs as he knelt behind her, and was massaging her throat. An empty vial lay nearby, yet she lay lifeless against the old man as the pool of blood around her continued to grow. Eskel strained to pick up a heartbeat from her, yet there was nothing.

No pulse. Nothing to circulate the swallow.

“Oh Gods… please—“

He turned back to Letho and shook as the impossible reality started to sink in.

“You can’t—don’t do this, you guys can’t…” Eskel begged as he sucked in a breath and desperate tears trickled down his scarred cheek. The tightness in his throat intensified as the feeling merged with the constriction in his chest. Eskel let out a low whine as he shook his head, refusing to believe what he was seeing. A reality without Letho, a world without Geralt. A lonely path with no light to look forward to at the end, ever. The ache he felt inside was fierce as prickling warmth spread out from his center and down to his limbs as he shook with adrenaline and pain.

 _“Please Letho,”_ his face contorted and his lips pulled back as he huddled over Letho’s body.

Eskel _knew_ this would happen. That he’d fail Letho— _somehow._ End up pushing him away, hurting him, or cause Letho to hate him. It wasn’t even him being a coward this time; he’d sworn that off! No he had to go get his ass _knocked out_ and now…Gods, now…

“Letho…” Eskel let out a mournful keen that stuttered out as he fought to draw in breath between gasps. The bitter scent of soap stung at his nose as he fought to breathe. Letho always did like to feel clean. Even before battle he’d made sure they’d bathed...

The recent memory of them being entwined in the too small tub, shifting against each other and whispering into each other’s ears and skin as they pretended they weren’t about to rush headlong into battle. The fluttery feeling he felt at Letho’s last proclamation of his love and need for Eskel. The happiness in Letho’s face as Eskel finally returned the admission after having so much doubt in himself and fear he would drive Letho away.

Now Letho was gone… and Eskel wouldn’t even get the chance to prove to himself that he was wrong.

Eskel’s fists clenched bone white into his lover’s armor as he curled into him with a heart wrenching sob. His entire body tingled and felt numb with cold as his entire world narrowed down to darkness and nothing but the rough feel of Letho’s pauldron pressing into his brow. His tears soaked into it, mingling with the snot running down his nose as he shook and struggled to breathe through gasps of breath.

The agonizing pain he felt intensified, and it became even more impossible to breathe as he realized they were all gone.

All his brothers.

Lambert, the youngest of them all. Prickly, yet fun and always ready with a jab or snarky comeback, with a voice smooth as silk and as equally charming to the ladies as the men. He’d never wanted their life, rebelled against it with every fiber of his being, yet embraced it as much as any of them, if only out of spite and his refusal to die.

Yet… now…

Now Geralt was gone too.

He struggled through a spell of dizziness as he fought for breath. Geralt had been more than a best friend to him, more than a brother. He’d loved Geralt, yet he had been a coward. After everything he knew about Geralt, everything he’d learned, and been told to keep in mind, he was still afraid when he saw him as the White Wolf he truly was, feasting on the remains of their attackers. So he’d buried that feeling for the longest time and it was only recently that the feeling had resurfaced. Yet he was too late. Geralt had a mate now. Eskel was happy for him, but he hated himself for it.

Hated himself for his cowardice, for the fear he felt. For being required to harbor so many secrets from him. He felt dishonest, and like a horrible friend. He was inept, incapable—unable to defend his friends, his family and his lover.

Letho.

Why… he couldn’t… not yet… _“L—Letho!”_ he sobbed into the darkness, unable to breathe for the snot clogging his nose and the pain constricting his chest. The thought of going on without Letho, of wandering the path, and putting up with it all, knowing that he wasn’t around—

Eskel wanted to… but it was too much… he couldn’t… not anymore… not without his lover. Without Letho he’d—

_“Shhhhh…”_

He couldn’t see. His gut was roiling and he had to swallow back the nausea. He shook with gut wrenching sobs that wracked his body as he curled in on himself and struggled for breath. The pain in his chest was intense, restricting him, pressing down as he tried in vain to suck in air—air he almost wished he didn’t need, and wouldn’t instinctively try to take in.

_“Shhh, I got you…”_

Eskel burrowed into Letho’s shoulder again and blocked out all else but for the scent of Letho. Fresh soap and sweat. The scent of his lover, of home. He shuddered as a sob ripped its way through his clenched teeth. He wanted to just let go, leave everything behind and let the numb serenity of darkness take him.

As a rough hand smoothed over his bare shoulder he shuddered against it. Vesemir? Vesemir lost people too, they all did, but Geralt and Letho were his two closest friends. He’d grown up with Geralt, who knew most everything about Eskel, and they’d shared so many memories together. Some of the most memorable being their drunken nights, successful contracts and the Wolves Greeting in its various forms.

He always looked forward to coming home to that, to _them_. Everyone. Lambert, Geralt…

Letho, even though he was a Viper, had been included after a while…

_“You’re okay, lover. I’m here.”_

The voice jarred something inside him and he twisted away from it. The voice wasn’t real. It was impossible! Just a memory. His lover was dead. He’d been too late, too _weak._

_“Eskel, I'm here. It's Letho.”_

He let out a strangled sob and blocked out the lying voice. It was cruel, _unreal._ There was no way his lover could be—

The rough hand slid around him, down his back and drew him close, sending electricity down his spine. His bare back, warm and covered by blankets. He jerked away with a start as adrenaline ripped through his system and sent his heart tumbling. Eskel stared up into worried, gold eyes surrounded by dark circles which glistened with tears, and blinked his own as he struggled between sobs to make sense of what he was seeing—what he was _feeling._

No longer was he curled against the rough armor and lifeless body of his lover, nor was he out in the frigid night air of Kaer Morhen. Now he was the one being cradled, bundled naked beneath thick fur blankets and pressed warmly against his lover’s body.

He must be dreaming. Though a tiny voice inside wanted to suggest that he _had_ been dreaming because the warm little cocoon they were in felt so _good_ and _real…_

“L—Letho....?” Eskel’s voice broke as he looked at the man who held him. The scars were the same, his disfigured ear and dark scruff he was constantly trimming down because he didn't want a beard were exactly as he remembered. 

“Ya, lover, it's me,” Letho muttered softy. The hand that pulled him close came up to cradle his jaw and cheek.

Eskel’s lip trembled at the warmth from the hand, which felt so very real, yet he was skeptical. He must be dreaming, had to be! Or maybe a Wild Hunt warrior snuck up on him and landed a killing blow and now he was dead, and this was his afterlife. With Letho. Thank the Gods at least it was with Letho!

He shuddered as Letho pressed closer to gently nuzzle and kiss away the tears still falling from his eyes. “I'm here.”

Letho’s voice hadn't changed either. It was still low and growly, much like his own yet with an edge that sent him shivering. The soft yet very disconcerting touch of his lips smoothing over the numb portions of his scarred cheek remained the same too. It felt _so real_ , yet so had everything else!

A gentle warm press of their brows together had his lips pulling back in a pained grimace. The affectionate little head bump had been a thing between the wolves ever since he could remember, and was something Letho had quickly adopted as his own. His entire body shook as he tried and failed to hold back the heartbreak he felt at the loss of his family, his friends and lover. “This isn't real. You're _dead_.”

Dead and gone.

“No, my heart, you had a bad dream. Open your eyes.”

Eskel hadn't realized he even closed them. He and the pain and darkness were so entwined. His entire existence seemed pointless, he had so little hope. He'd failed. Everyone. Letho… Gods was it really Letho?!

Letho wanted him to open his eyes. Shouldn’t he… at least try? He didn't want to fail this Letho too.

“Look at me,” Letho implored thickly.

Eskel sucked in a shaky breath and some of his tears and snot too as he choked down a gasp of air before releasing another strangled sob. He wanted to look, truly, but he was afraid if he did the voice would go away and Letho with it.

A few tense moments of silence passed that was broken only by Eskel’s shuddering breath and quiet sobs as he fought with himself. The paranoia was overwhelming and his cowardice returned much to his embarrassment. It was so _shameful_ and _weak._

“Eskel,” Letho murmured quietly, “every time I look into your eyes, I’m reminded of your courage and strength. I would see them again, and add my strength to your own. Please look at me, my love. You’re not alone.”

At Letho’s heartfelt words, he found himself leaning into the warmth of the hand that gently cradled his face. Letho always waxed poetic, even from the beginning and had surprised Eskel with his earnestness. His rough voice always seemed to get at him too. It curled around him and made him shiver as it soothed out his own rough edges. Add in his unique eloquence and it had Eskel practically melting.

“L—Letho?” Eskel asked as his voice cracked with desperation and tentatively growing hope. He slowly unstuck his watery eyes and blinked them open to stare up at his lover.

“Yes, yes it’s me!”

Eskel watched his lover break out into a relieved smile and blink back the tears glistening in his eyes and sticking to his lashes. The smile made Eskel feel warm inside, yet the pain he felt, the tension and anguish twisting around in his gut and chest didn’t fade.

His face crumpled as he wrestled with the too-vivid sensations, feelings and images from the dream. “I—I failed you. F—failed everyone…”

He looked away and turned his face back into Letho’s chest and pillow as he was overcome with shame and disappointment in himself. It had been a dream—a nightmare. _This_ was his reality, yet _that_ could have been reality too! Could still be! He’d not been quick enough, preemptive enough, had ran out of stamina—he couldn’t protect himself and failed the others—everyone!

Courage and strength… ha… they all _died_ because of him…

“Triss, Lambert… G—Geralt, you—everyone died! I couldn't stop it—I was too weak,” Eskel shuddered and bit back half formed sobs that continued to escape between his clenched teeth. He was a mess. A pathetic mess. How could Letho even stand him?

“When? In your nightmare?” Letho knew he needn't have even asked. “Our dreams are often our subconscious way of bringing our greatest fears and deepest desires to the surface. Returning to Kaer Morhen may have made those fears manifest, but they don’t make ya who you are nor will they shape who ya become or even influence what will be. Use them to your advantage, let them become your strength, rather than a obstacle or hindrance.”

Eskel shook uncontrollably as Letho’s voice curled and twisted around inside him. He cried more quietly now, his tears soaking through the pillow. He wanted to believe Letho, almost desperately, but he'd made some horrible, unforgivable decisions and mistakes in his life that he'd never forgive himself for. The dream only reminded him of that.

Eskel felt Letho curl over him and nuzzle into his hair, then he started gently carding through it. He focused on the soothing touch, and the warm protection of Letho’s body feeling much like a weighted blanket. It made him feel safe—and reminded him of where he was, and that Letho was very much _alive_.

“Where you see failure, I see an opportunity to improve. Where you see weakness, I see your humble soul. What you feel ya lack in strength, you make up for in passion and your willingness to protect your friends.”

Letho’s voice and the warmth of his skin against Eskel’s slowly began to calm him.

“You're strong and tenacious, salty and funny but also kind. You have a heart bigger than ya know… we all do, but especially you wolves. Your loyalty is unmatched, and your passion for life, your love for your friends and your ability to accept weirdos like me into your circle has endeared me to you. Forever.”

Eskel made a strangled sound, a cross between a whine, a laugh and a relieved sob as warmth spread throughout his chest, relaxing the tension he felt, and the pain slowly began to seep away. “You're not weird,” Eskel mumbled gruffly as he turned his face just enough to peer up at Letho with a single, puffy eye.

He wasn’t used to all the praise, and the heat he felt slowly worked up his neck into his face. Most times he’d tell people to shove it and not believe them, but he knew damn well that every single word Letho spoke, his lover believed with all his heart.

“I _am_ weird. You’re weird. We’re all super weird, but that’s what makes us all unique, right? We all gotta stick together. Besides, you love my weird, or you wouldn’t put up with me.”

Letho grinned down at him and Eskel just hummed and closed his one eye. He didn’t quite feel like talking much. He felt dumb, and was embarrassed as fuck, being pulled into such a state by a damn nightmare.

They all had nightmares, and suffered through them in their various ways, but usually they were alone.

This was… different. Good. Embarrassing, but good. Better than the alternative.

“Hey,” Letho rumbled down at him as the hand skimmed back down to cup his cheek.

Eskel opened his eye tiredly and blinked up at him.

Letho’s expression was tender and golden eyes soft as they looked down on him. “You hold my heart, my wolf. Will you let me take care of yours?”

Eskel’s stomach did an uneasy little flip that left him feeling a bit jittery, even flighty as he smothered it down. He knew Letho loved him, and he Letho, but putting it into words was something he was still getting used to. Communication wasn’t his strong point at all to begin with, let alone communicating _feelings_.

He wasn’t eloquent like Letho, and almost always blundered through whatever he was trying to get across. Yet being around Letho motivated him to try harder, or at the very least, to be more honest with himself and less like his old self.

“Keep it warm for me,” Eskel said thickly as he twisted around so he could better look up at Letho. He could feel the love in Letho’s gaze on him, and brought up a shaky hand to smooth across the barely there stubble along his jaw.

Letho leaned into his touch, sending a shiver down his arm to the rest of his body.

He was real… _alive._ This was his impossible reality. Them. _Together_ , with all odds piled against them.

Eskel nervously licked his lips as the fluttery feeling in his stomach became more pronounced. “I…I love you, Letho,” he said hoarsely.

Letho’s smile widened as he dipped down to claim Eskel’s lips. He opened up to Letho happily as relief swept through him, and the love he felt burned through his body, filling him up.

“You gona be okay lover?” Letho asked as he pulled away. Their foreheads pressed together again, and their warm breath mingled pleasantly. Eskel just closed his eyes and let the warmth of their bodies and Letho’s _presence_ seep into him, making him feel whole.

“Long as I got you.”


End file.
